We both look at her. To my horror, we have different reactions to her new nickname.
I give her a look that more than communicates my displeasure with it. He chuckles and slips his hands in his pockets, not denying it.
“Did I hear someone say ‘lover boy’?” Esme’s smooth voice filters in from around the corner before she, Clover, and Clementine, walk into the room. The former two are still in their pajamas, which makes me feel less ridiculous.
Clover bumps her hip against Esme in a silent command to stop. We are all aware she’s only getting started.
The walls are closing in around me. The unrelenting attention from Archer, coupled with the curious, giddy audience is prickling at my skin. I do what I always do when I feel cornered.
“What are you even doing awake?” I snap at Esme. “I didn’t think you’d grace us with your presence until at least ten.” My sharp words don’t wound her. If anything, her lips rise at my small outburst.
A true instigator.
Esme ignores me and turns her attention to our guest. “What brought you here? A grandparent, or a whisper on the wind?”
To my horror, Archer answers, “More like a dream.”
“Oh, Mother Earth,” Rowyn murmurs in a traitorously love-struck tone at the same time I mutter, “Dear Gods.”
“Lover boy indeed,” Esme muses and crosses her arms, throwing me a teasing look.
“That’s enough,” I blurt out and step forward, grabbing his arm. “Archer is leaving now.”
“How do you know my name?” he asks.
The question startles me enough to stop and turn toward him. I consider letting his forearm go, but can’t quite bring myself to break the connection.
“Rowyn told me,” I tell him.
I catch her eyes rolling, and he looks back at her.
“Gale,” he says without any further explanation.
Rowyn nods, and so does Archer, like that’s explanation enough for him.
I don’t question it. Tugging on his arm, I’m about to turn back toward the hallway when he stops me again.
Archer asks, “What’s your name?”
My mouth pops open, ready to answer and tell him any other secrets he may want to know, but I have enough sense to stop myself in time.
As I close my mouth, his brows lower in disappointment.
We stare at each other for a long moment, aware of our audience, and I hate the reservation that slides over his handsome features.
This time when I turn and drag him, he follows without a fight. My own disappointment floods through me. I push it down and make my way to the front door.
A small scream spills out of me, and I jump backward when a coyote casually walks out of the den and stops in front of us.
Archer gently grabs my waist so I don’t fall. Even with the dress, it feels like his hands are directly on my skin. Slowly, I look at him over my shoulder and find him staring intently at me.
It’s such a heated look—so full of hunger and longing—that it almost breaks my resolve. The bitter reminder of what our fate looks like makes all of the warmth drain straight out of me. “That’s Whisper,” he murmurs.
His breath tickles my cheek, and I pick up his woodsy, vanilla scent from the other day. It was hard to pick up in the gardens, but my body was drawn to it more than anything around us.
“Your familiar?” I ask embarrassed, turning to look back at Whisper. Despite him being named, I should’ve guessed based on his size. He’s large for a coyote.
His head tilts curiously when he looks at me, and his tail slowly sweeps along the floor calmly. He’s not worried about his Bonded being so close to me—and I can’t help but think,you should be.
